


Tube Socks

by intravenusann



Series: Richie Tozier's Foot Fetish [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Foot Fetish, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shorts (Clothing), Socks, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:15:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intravenusann/pseuds/intravenusann
Summary: “Ugh, I hate you,” Eddie says.“Yeah, I really believe that when you’re humping my leg like a chihuahua,” Richie says.“Like you don’t wanna rub your hard-on with my gym socks,” Eddie says.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Richie Tozier's Foot Fetish [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677526
Comments: 21
Kudos: 285





	Tube Socks

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably gross and it's definitely un-edited.

In the morning, Eddie gets up and though he always tries not to wake Richie, he always does. 

For forty seven glorious days now, Richie has been woken up by the movement of Eddie Kaspbrak getting out of his bed at five something. He gets dressed and goes out and does exercise or something. His physical therapy stretches and yoga or jogging or pilates or whatever. Maybe he does tai-chi? Richie doesn’t know.

It used to be that he would hear Eddie open the guest bedroom door at ass o’clock and he would startle awake and then lay there, worrying. But even then, he didn’t ask.

He keeps his eyes shut, now, and ignores the insistent press of his bladder against the base of his dick. He did not crawl into this warm bed and arrange Eddie fucking Kaspbrak’s arms around his at 1:40 a.m. to get out of bed at five something.

Around six something, Eddie usually takes a shower and then he waltzes out to smack Richie in the sternum or the forehead with a bottle of Listerine.

“I want to make out,” he might say today. “Come on.”

Richie thinks about this as Eddie steps out of the bedroom and quietly closes the door. He reaches down and gropes himself through his boxers, because Eddie will come back. And he’ll come back to Richie’s apartment and Richie’s bed. 

Maybe he’ll be sweet, leaning down to fuck with Richie’s bedhead and press a kiss to his forehead. Let’s get kinky: Maybe he’ll kiss Richie without making him go brush his teeth first.

Or maybe he’ll drag Richie out of bed by his hair and shove him into the shower so he can grind his soap-slippery dick in Richie’s ass crack again. That was a real hit with Richie, personally. Eddie’s teeth against the nobby bones at the back of his neck. The shower water getting in Richie’s eyes and mouth so he couldn’t see shit even without his glasses and he could barely talk without drowning. The tile all around them echoing back Eddie’s voice saying, “Fuck, Richie, why is it always so fucking good? Why do you always feel so fucking good? You’re always so fucking good.”

Richie tries to jerk off and instead he gets a punch in the kidneys.

“Ah, shit,” he says, and he staggers out of the bed. His ankle gets caught in the bed sheets.

He kicks the seat up with his toes and uses both hands to point his dick down and vaguely at the toilet bowl. He doesn’t have his glasses on.

“Damnit,” he says. “Eds’ll fuckin’ kill me if I pissed on the floor.”

So he’s gotta wash his hands and, then, go get his glasses and use some bleach wipes on the bathroom floor.

“Fucking cunt _balls_ ,” Richie says, when he stands up and his knee pops like a pellet gun.

“Might as well make coffee,” he says. Because now he’s awake and the clock by the side of the bed that Eddie has now claimed as his own reads 5:39 a.m.

The coffee maker says it’s 5:34 a.m. They don’t use auto-brewing because Eddie thinks it’s gross to leave the grounds in overnight. So Richie has to wander around the kitchen with his dick jutting out in front of him. Whatever! It’s just like college!

Measure the coffee. Run in through the grinder. Grab a filter. Dump it in there. Add some water from the Brita pitcher. Hit the buttons. Refill the Brita. Clean the coffee grinder. He’s doing this pretty much with his eyes closed.

“I wanna be in bed,” Richie whines into the kitchen sink.

But then he thinks about Eddie coming back from his gym bunny-ing and smelling freshly brewed coffee made for him by this guy who is always _so fucking good_. Richie leans both his elbows on the kitchen counter and listens to the water boiling in the coffee maker.

He could make breakfast. He could scramble up some eggs and make French toast or whatever. 

Maybe after coffee, Richie thinks, and then leans his butt against the counter and scratches his stomach. The carafe has started to fill and the coffee maker is really pissing away. Richie waits for it to get down to a dribble. Then he grabs a mug from the cabinet overhead and tries to Raiders of the Lost Ark the coffee maker. He hears the sizzle of boiling coffee hitting the warmer and turning to steam.

“Fuck,” he hisses, and shoves the carafe back in place.

Then he takes a swig of hot coffee and burns his tongue.

“Fuck!” he shouts. 

He heads to the living room couch to petulantly move his burnt tongue around in his mouth and wait for his coffee to cool down. He slouches and stretches his bare feet into the space under the coffee table. Richie wiggles his toes. This space gets vacuumed now that Eddie lives with him. There’s no risk of touching a weird dust bunny made of his own hair and screaming because he thinks it’s a rat. 

He smiles and rests the bottom of his coffee mug against his belly. It’s hot, but he’s wearing a t-shirt. Eddie would definitely know if that could still burn him. Probably it can, but for now it’s a great way for him to tell when his coffee moves from “boiling lava” to “pleasantly hot.”

“His face is ‘pleasantly hot,’” Richie says to the empty apartment. “But his dick got set to ‘boiling lava’ and then somebody broke the dial off.”

He shakes his head at himself. “I’ll workshop it.”

The coffee cools. Richie thinks about stupid shit he can say to make Eddie smile. He thinks about Eddie being so overwhelmed with shock and gratitude that Richie got up and made coffee at ass o’clock while he was out that he drops right to his knees and blows him on the sofa while he drinks coffee. 

“Talk about creamer,” Richie mutters. That makes him laugh, at least.

He drinks the rest of his coffee and then rests his mug on his stomach. He puts his free hand on his cock. He’s still half-hard and it just feels good to be touching it. He rubs the curve of his palm over his balls through the fabric of his boxers. His thighs spread. Richie closes his eyes and sighs.

When he yawns, Richie’s jaw cracks. Fuck, he’s so tired still.

The apartment door opens softly. Richie turns and opens his eyes. Eddie walks in and bends down to untie his New Balance sneakers and put them away. He leans on the shoe rack by the door and draws his socked foot back behind him by the ankle. 

His white socks go up to his knees, with little red stripes. The muscle of his calf meets the back of his thigh and his body stands straight as a pillar. Richie blinks. He licks his lips.

Eddie relaxes and sighs. He curves over the shoe rack and rolls his shoulders. He grabs his other foot and does that stretch again. He’s got black shorts so tight they’re practically painted on, but then these little teal shorts with a split on the side. The curve of his ass peaks out a little when he bends in half and touches his toes.

“Holy shitting fuck,” Richie mumbles to himself. He sets his coffee mug on the couch, where it promptly falls over when he sits up. He squeezes his own dick, which is probably rude. But, Eddie is like, his boyfriend? They haven’t said that word, but they live together and they sleep in the same bed and they go on dates. So they’re probably boyfriends and this is probably OK?

But what if it isn’t? Richie takes his hands off his crotch and presses them both to the couch cushions.

Eddie turns around and pulls off the sexy little white tank top he’s wearing. His hair is damp with sweat and loose, totally unstyled. The curls are wet, but separating just a little. He’s flushed down his neck and chest, the same way he gets after a hard, wet fuck. The scar on his cheek stands out, a pale line to remind Richie that Eddie’s cheekbones are sharp as diamonds.

Richie blinks at him. 

Eddie’s arm muscles tense and relax as he moves. Richie likes the lines of the ones that go from his elbows to his narrow wrists. He likes the dip of Eddie’s collarbones and the wedge of his shoulder muscles above that.

And then there’s the scar. The dent to the side of his sternum, all shiny and pink, that screams Eddie Kaspbrak would die for Richie Tozier, but he _didn’t_.

Alright, no, if Richie looks at that too long, he’ll probably cry. And it’s too early for that.

“Hey, Richie,” he says. “What are you doing up?”

His dick is so hard it feels like he just unlocked a new level in erections.

Eddie’s abs are most defined just above his belly button, for some reason, this solid chunks of muscle right between the lines of his ribs and his hips. The black shorts cut right into the fucking bicycle-handles of Eddie’s hips. Then there are his thighs, just a little bit of soft brown hair and all the ropey muscle. Even his _knees_ are beautiful.

And those fucking socks. Has he worn those every morning? How has Richie never just opened his eyes and noticed? The brilliant, Tide-cleaned white and the little red stripes just straining around the width of Eddie’s calves. The hair gets darker and thicker below his knees. Richie can imagine rubbing his thumbs against it, just above the elastic and those red lines. 

“Richie?” Eddie asks. “Hey, Earth to dipshit, are you sleepwalking?”

“Fucking stand on my dick,” Richie says.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, sputtering with laughter.

“Okay, no, don’t, ignore me,” Richie says. “It’s early and I have a boner, like such a boner, for you, but I didn’t mean that.”

Eddie reaches into his little shorts and — takes out his keys. He drops them into the basket onto top of the shoe rack. 

“What did you mean, then?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” Richie says. 

Eddie smiles at him in a way that makes Richie feel like someone just changed the lenses in his glasses. He feels like Eddie is so far away and yet holding him under a microscope. It’s a smile that leans more to one side and shows just a little bit of tooth. Eddie’s eyes are very dark.

“I’m really gross right now,” Eddie says. “Like, there’s a lake of ball sweat under here. Fucking bullshit claims about wicking.”

“I’d wick your ball sweat,” Richie says, hopeful.

“I’m sure you would,” Eddie says. He fully smiles, then, all teeth and dimples and a million lines around his eyes. Richie wants to kiss each one. He pushes up off the couch. Eddie stands there and rubs the arch of his right foot on the top of his left foot. Richie can see the hard brick of Eddie’s calf muscle flexing.

“Can I kiss your sock?” Richie asks. He freezes and shakes his head violently.

“Your cock!” he shouts. He puts his face in his hands. His dick is trying to pop open the little button on the fly of his boxers.

“Jesus Christ,” he says. His face feels warm under his hands. He’s smudging the shit out of his glasses. He’s definitely bending the frames.

“Hey,” Eddie says. 

Richie peeks at him through his fingers.

“Get over here,” he says.

“Yeah,” Richie says, with a sigh. “Alright.”

“You’re so hot,” Eddie says. “I don’t even… Fuck, I’m so sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” Richie says. “I could lick the sweat out of your ass crack right now.”

Eddie shudders and makes a throaty little disgusted sound. It makes Richie smile.

“How can you make me feel sexy right now?” Eddie asks. “That’s not even fair.”

“What’s not fair is how fucking good you look right now,” Richie tells him. 

Eddie drops his little running tank top on the floor. He reaches out with both hands and steps forward to grab Richie by his arms. He digs his fingers in, squeezing Richie’s biceps. He keeps moving, hands on Richie’s wrists and his shoulders. He presses his nose against the side of Richie’s throat and Richie feels his tongue. His dick keeps brushing against Eddie’s hard stomach.

“I didn’t brush my teeth,” Richie says.

“Fuck, don’t tell me that,” Eddie says. “I want to kiss you so fucking bad. I haven’t showered. Shit, I must smell so bad. And you smell like our bed, fuck, Richie.”

“Our bed,” Richie echoes.

Eddie yanks him by his wrists. His crotch grinds against Richie’s thigh. He swallows. Eddie sucks on his throat. He tips his head away.

“Eds, Eddie, baby,” he murmurs toward the ceiling. Eddie thrusts against him.

Sweat makes Richie’s hand slide against Eddie’s back, but he follows the curve of his spine up to the scar on his back. He feels it out with gentle finger tips, moving up to Eddie’s shoulder blade. 

“Fuck it,” Eddie says. “I’m going to kiss you.”

“Okay,” Richie says. Eddie takes him by the hair and Richie’s mouth is open for him. His lips are soft, but Eddie’s all teeth. He’s all grin and dimples and talking directly into Richie’s mouth.

“I want to fuck you,” he says. “I want to fuck you every time I see you. Even on my run, I should’ve been thinking about my pace or my posture or just enjoying the fucking scenery. But no, all I could think about was how at the end of this I’d get to shower off all this fucking sweat and then touch your dick.”

Richie moans. It would be more embarrassing for him, really, if he hadn’t already said the sock thing. Eddie is getting hard against him. He can feel it.

“Okay,” Richie says, when Eddie pulls away.

“Okay?” Eddie says. “Just okay?”

“Yeah,” Richie sighs. “Anything you want, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah,” Richie says.

Eddie sighs. He puts both arms around Richie’s ribs and fucking hugs him. Like alright, their cocks are hard and squished up between them. But this is definitely a hug.

“Whatever I want is what you want,” Eddie says. “Doesn’t feel fair.”

“I think it’s really fair,” Richie says. “I like it.”

He thrusts his hips a little in case Eddie somehow missed Richie’s throbbing boner poking him in the belly button.

“Kiss me again,” Eddie says, and tilts his head up. Richie tips his down and a little to the side. His glasses dig into Eddie’s cheek and Eddie’s nose gets squished a little. Eddie’s tongue licks the coffee taste out of Richie’s mouth. He tastes salty. The top of Eddie’s lip is a little stubbly and sweaty. Richie licks it.

“You’re gonna eat boogers,” Eddie says, laughing and pulling away.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Richie says.

“Ugh, I hate you,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, I really believe that when you’re humping my leg like a chihuahua,” Richie says.

“Like you don’t wanna rub your hard-on with my gym socks,” Eddie says. 

Richie’s stomach twists. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

“That’s cool,” Eddie says. He pulls on the back of Richie’s t-shirt with both hands.

“Wanna do it right now?” 

“In the foyer?” Richie asks. He feels himself making a stupid face, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows. Eddie laughs.

“Fuck yeah, dude!” Eddie says. “I wanna… I wanna fucking rub your face on my dick right here in the foyer and I’ll give you a footjob or whatever. Why not?”

Richie cackles. His head goes all the way back like a fucking Pez dispenser. He can’t stop laughing, and Eddie just holds on tight and grinds their bodies together. Eddie’s biting at his throat, now, like a jaguar on a baby gazelle. Richie hisses from the sharp pain of it, but keeps laughing.

“Why not?” Richie says. His voice is a full octave higher than it should be.

“Yeah!” Eddie says.

“Okay, lemme go then, I gotta get on my knees for this,” Richie tells him. He feels like he could smash through a two-by-four with his cock right now. 

“Get your shirt off first,” Eddie says. He yanks on the fabric and Richie helps him. He grabs the collar of his shirt behind his neck and they both pull.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Eddie says. He holds Richie by the shoulders and locks his elbows so that Richie can’t press in close. His big, dark eyes move all over the place, like he’s reading some secret code off Richie’s chest hair.

“How do you just roll out of bed looking like this?” Eddie demands of him.

“Born with it,” Richie says. “Definitely not Maybelline.”

“I’m going to shut you up with my dick,” Eddie says.

“Yes,” Richie says. “Please.”

He starts to kneel when Eddie suddenly shouts, “Wait!”

“What?” he says, thumbs reaching for those bicycle handles above Eddie’s pelvis.

“What about your knees?” Eddie asks.

“Aw, sweetheart,” Richie says. “A little discomfort can’t stop me.”

“But,” Eddie starts. So Richie just kneels down and presses his face against Eddie’s dick through his shorts.

“Oh, fuck!” Eddie says. Both his hands go to Richie’s ears, grabbing him like pot handles. Eddie moves to his hair, which feels a lot better. He seems to instinctively know how to hold with his knuckles to Richie’s scalp. And he never pulls too, _too_ hard. And he tells Richie to shut up whenever Richie makes jokes about his hairline.

His blunt, perfectly filed nails scratch against Richie’s scalp; Richie purrs against Eddie’s dick. It’s pressed against his glasses and the side of his nose. He’s nuzzling it like a fucking cat.

Eddie staggers back towards the wall and Richie follows, shuffling on his knees. It does hurt a little but it’s worth it. Eddie thrusts against Richie’s lips and his cheek. Richie opens his mouth and licks the slippery, artificial fabric of Eddie’s shorts. His spit barely soaks through, but that doesn’t stop him. He mouths at the shape of Eddie’s cock and lets the drool run down his chin.

“Don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop,” Eddie says. “Fuck, you look so good. Richie, you’re fucking handsome. Do you understand that? I think you’re so fucking handsome, and you look like a fucking porn star with your — holy shit, your lips are so red. I wish I could kiss you while you’re sucking my cock.”

He tugs on Richie’s hair. And then, and _then_ , Richie feels Eddie’s foot gently brushing against his leg. Richie swallows.

Eddie’s little socked foot rubs against the hair on the inside of Richie’s thighs, follows the length of his leg up to his hips.

He absolutely should not thrust against it.

“Come on, Rich,” Eddie says. “I can’t see what I’m doing, you’ve got to help me.”

Richie looks Eddie in the eye and drags his tongue up the front of his shorts.

“Come on, _Richard_ ,” Eddie hisses at him. But he lets go of Richie’s hair and yanks down the elastic of both pairs of shorts.

“Fuck,” Richie murmurs, because Eddie isn’t wearing underwear. Or maybe the black shorts are underwear? What does he know. There’s a little hemmed pouch at the front for Eddie’s junk, but it clearly wasn’t really meant to hold a hard-on.

Richie kisses the very tip of Eddie’s dick and then looks up at him. Eddie’s got like eight chins from this angle and he’s still the most beautiful man that Richie has ever seen. He feels like he’s got a stomach populated by every incarnation of Mothra; that’s the level of butterflies he feels with Eddie Kaspbrak’s dick against his lips and his eyes boring into Richie’s skull from above.

He licks his lips and Eddie sucks his breath in between his teeth.

Richie lets Eddie hold his head and just fuck his mouth. Like, he could absolutely put in the work. He does, a little, swallowing and moving his jaw around the shape of Eddie’s cock. But mostly he just holds his lips over his teeth and lets Eddie have his way. It feels good, too good. Like there are poprocks and cherry bombs going off under Richie’s skin. His dick twitches and he feels the arch of Eddie’s foot press against him. He thrusts against it, because Eddie wants him to. He’ll be really fucking annoyed about it, too.

Richie gags a little and the drool is running down under his chin, over his unshaven neck.

“Oh, _fuck_ , Richie,” Eddie says. “I want, I want…”

And he doesn’t really have to say anything, because Richie feels like he’s got a dick-to-throat psychic connection. He tastes sweat at first and then nothing. Eddie’s rubbing the taste buds right off his tongue. His jaw hurts. It doesn’t matter, though, because Eddie’s holding his face in both hands.

His ass clenches on every thrust and it’s not really enough, with no control and the fabric. But Richie wants Eddie to touch him. 

“I’m going to come,” Eddie tells him. 

“Thank fuck,” Richie thinks, because he can’t feel half his face anymore and he’s still _so_ fucking hard and not much closer to getting off.

But also, he thinks, “Please, come down my fucking throat.”

And Eddie does. He knocks his head back against the wall when he does it and groans a little. Richie barely tastes it, which is a shame. But he swallows and swallows, until Eddie hisses and eases him back. He gasps in a breath and reaches up to wipe his mouth against the back of his hand.

“Kiss,” Eddie says, sliding down the wall. 

“Kiss, and, and,” he stops and swallows. His face is so flushed and, when he gets level with Richie’s, he finds that Eddie’s eyes are just big black holes of pupil. He looks drugged.

“You okay?” Richie asks, and wow his voice sounds _fucked._ Like, literally.

“I’m gonna make you come,” Eddie says. “Because I fucking love you.”

“Okay,” Richie says. He can’t even take that seriously, not in this context where he just sucked Eddie’s dick right in front of their apartment door. But he wants to. Also, his dick is still so, so hard.

“You always say that,” Eddie says. And he groans again, which is sexy but probably not sexy.

“I wanna make you feel good,” Richie tells him.

“You do, you do,” Eddie says. “And I should, I shouldn’t have said that. It was cheap.”

“It’s okay,” Richie says. “I’m not really classy. You can do whatever.”

“Goddamnit, Richie, I wanna be nice to you,” Eddie says. “I want to make you feel good and important and… and… good.”

“You do,” he says, then he leans forward and Eddie kisses him. He licks the taste of sweat or semen or chaffed tastebuds and coffee off of Richie’s tongue. They kiss and kiss and Richie barely notices that Eddie has rearranged his knees and put both feet on his dick. But then Eddie’s awkwardly trying to yank his boxers down and Richie pulls away a little.

“Holy fuck, how are you this flexible?” he asks.

Also, if he didn’t have a weird foot thing, which he thinks he did _not,_ he definitely has one when he gets his boxers down and sees his cock framed by Eddie’s white socks. 

“Alright,” Eddie says. “I don’t know what I’m fucking doing, but I’m going to do it.”

“I love you,” Richie blurts out, because he absolutely means it and he isn’t classy at all. “I love the shit out of you and I’m gonna come on your socks.”

“Do it,” Eddie tells him. “I fucking dare you.”

Richie looks him right in the eyes and then lunges for a kiss. It’s so messy. Eddie bites his tongue and his lower lip until they feel swollen. Between their bodies, Eddie pulls his knees back and presses his feet together tightly. It’s too rough, really, there’s the wrong kind of friction. He’s so hard and he’s been hard for so long that it hurts. Richie whines into Eddie’s mouth. He tries to say shit, the way Eddie does, but it comes out too muffled and garbled. 

Then his hips spasm and his thighs lock up hard enough that his knees hurt. And he does come all over Eddie’s socks, and his belly and his teal running shorts, too. Just all over Eddie and also the living room floor.

But he keeps kissing Eddie, too, even when Eddie pulls away from him and says, “Fuck, my bare ass is on the hardwood.”

“It’s easy to clean,” Richie says. He licks the skin under Eddie’s ear and tastes sweat.

“I’m going to say it again, so you know I mean it,” Eddie says. “I want to mean it.”

“Okay,” Richie tells him. “I’m gonna say it, probably, like so much that you get totally sick of it.”

“Never going to happen, Rich,” Eddie says. There are a lot of things that Richie thought were never going to happen, that he was _certain_ would never, could never happen. And he just did at least seventeen of those things just now. But he kind of hopes that this one is for real — that he’ll tell Eddie that he loves him every day, every hour, and they’ll never get sick of it.


End file.
